


but, again - i am alone.

by braigwen



Category: Avatar: Legend of Korra
Genre: Angst, Gen, Ghosts, Grief/Mourning, Momboss & Detectiveson, Self-aware characters
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-08
Updated: 2018-10-08
Packaged: 2019-07-28 06:52:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 456
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16236461
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/braigwen/pseuds/braigwen
Summary: "You’re dead," he says simply, and the ghost folds her – no, its – no, her, he still can’t think otherwise – arms and sighs."What an astute conclusion, Detective."





	but, again - i am alone.

Mako runs his hands over the badge again, concentrating on the texture of the cold metal rather than contemplate its meaning. Rather than concentrating on why he held it. Rather than accepting that –

“Hey, Kid,” drawls a familiar voice, and he startles and jumps round, dropping the badge back to the desk, feeling for a moment like he’d just been caught running messages for Shin. He studies the silver hair, the piercing eyes, the heavy scars, the uniform.

“You’re dead,” he says simply, and the ghost folds her – no, its – no, _her_ , he still can’t think otherwise – arms and sighs.

“What an astute conclusion, Detective,” she says, and he knows then she’s a trick of his mind, or some spirit, because she’d stopped calling him that as soon as he rose to Captain. It was just his own insecurities, or some psychological complex he’d kept securely not-unpacked (and that he intended to keep that way), that still used that title.

Rather than contemplate the meaning of that, either, he steps to the side and waits for her to speak further, leave the room, vanish into a puff of smoke, even walk around the desk and take her rightful (her _should be_ ) seat.

Instead, she steps closer, and places a hand on his shoulder. He can feel it, it’s corporeal, but there’s a kind of liquidity about it, like that any moment it might transform into a shadow. In fact, if anything, he feels like it _is_ a shadow, the sudden, subdued, relief that comes when the hot sun goes behind a cloud. With the knowledge that, all too soon, the cloud will drift past him and that he’ll be scorched again.

“Mako,” she says, and the muffled, worn-rough grate of her voice is so unbearably mundane he almost breaks down again right there.

“Hey, Chief,” he says back, remembering Bolin’s recount of meeting Toph. He’s not sure what he’s testing for, what option of her reply would be the more heartbreaking, and he can’t help the way his voice sticks and stumbles out of his throat.

“Hey, Chief,” she returns, and pats his other shoulder, her ghost-weight still heavy on his left. She holds his gaze in hers, and then nods after a long moment. “You’ll do good, Kid. I’m proud of you.”

“Thanks, Mom,” he chokes, but there’s – _no longer, never was_ – anybody there. He tugs on his collar where the scarf used to have been, still a reflex, self-soothing action, and then stumbles blindly forward, gropes on the desk for the badge.

He grips it tightly, feels it dig into his palm, and he sinks down to the floor and sobs, bawls until he can hardly breathe and his stomach aches from the convulsing.

**Author's Note:**

> I deliberately left the timeframe and Lin's circumstances of death ambiguous, but she wasn't retired yet - or Saikhan was at any rate. Feel free to interpret this as a turf war she got caught in downtown (maximum Angsty Parallel), or a severe illness, or anything in between. I'm pretty sure chronic overwork contributed, but it's the readers who decide a story's meaning, never the author.  
> This was loosely inspired by The West Wing's "Two Cathedrals," where the protagonist is visited by the ghost, a figment of his imagination, of his mentor and mother-figure.  
> Comments are appreciated!


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